1484. Thomas Westwood to EBB
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 8, 130–132.
Chase Side,
Jany. 1st [1844] [1]
Now, nay, dear Miss Barrett, I must be quite positive on this matter—quite rudely positive,—and indeed I shall be both pained & disappointed, if you will not let me send you this poor book of mine [2] —for I have quite reckoned on so doing, & when I first began to write it, with the thought of my friends, was mixed up a thought of yourself, as one of them, & the hope that I might be able to write something that would give you pleasure– So you see you have quite a right to it, & no right whatsoever, to shake your head, & refuse–
As to my taking your reference to the advertisement, as a suggestion—how could you ever conceive so ugly an imagination? I should take shame to myself even to dream of such a thing. I mentioned the fact of my being about to send it, quite as a matter of course, & I also thought it better to do so, because it seemed probable that the time of the publication might not tally with the advertisement, which the binder has verified, by sending his word that it will not be ready till Thursday next. Pray believe that it was only to prevent your thinking me neglectful that I adverted to the matter so fully– Angry with you, for that kind wish? No truly—but I, you know, have no literary reputation, either to win or lose, I know my own mind too well (that is a vain thought, you will say) to dream or hope of ever doing more than I have done or am doing– I am never, abstractedly, satisfied with what I write, because I always feel that it is, more or less, imitative– I store up other people’s thoughts & fancies, & then blush to find that they are not my own.
Since I wrote to you my friends have returned from their London visit—& I would you could have seen how pleased they were, when I read what you had written about them– [3] No—I still hope that we may remain together—the breaking up of our little party, is, at least not so imminent as it appeared a short time ago,—and very thankful am I, that it is so, for I know well from old experience, how keenly I should feel the change, & how bitter, that new loneliness would be– Indeed they are your friends,—at least if you will let them be so—friends as affectionate & attached, it may be, as many who see your face. Your idea of us is a very true one. We live amongst others, it is true, but are not of them– Every night the same faces are gathered round the hearth, & we tell again old stories, & read again old books, & rejoice & are grateful for the enjoyment of a blessing which is given to so few, in this rough, restless world– Think of us still, dear Miss Barrett, as you have been wont to do,—& think also, that to the happiness of our intercourse, you have added very much,—your books were the very first we read together,—since then, your letters have drawn us still nearer to you—& indeed you are quite bound up with all our dearest & pleasantest recollections & associations.
My first thought,—and indeed my final one—with respect to the epitaph was, that it would have been far better, had it not been made public– And I thought the same when he printed those lines on Grace Darling, which were ushered in with such a flourish of trumpets, and had nothing to say for themselves. [4] The review, [5] I find I have not got, as I did not take the paper in regularly at this time,—but I shall be able to get it at the office as you have given me an idea of its locality—& I thank you very much for so doing– Shelley, I have read, through & through, & love & admire him as much, as I can do a man who holds himself so far aloof from common feelings, & common sympathies– There are poems of his, which I never tire of reading—the ‘ode to a Skylark’, & ‘Alastor’, & part of the ‘Prometheus’, & that magnificent first canto of the “Revolt of Islam”, with the fight of the eagle & serpent– ‘Fancy’! why he had enough to supply fifty Wordsworths (I do not speak irreverently) & a surplus stock sufficient for all the small poets of his day.
Byron, I no longer care for—the stream of his poetry has such an earthy flavour—& is so seldom clean in its flowing. You, admired Byron once—have you not put him on some upper shelf now? But what did you think of Macauley’s ‘Lays’—are they not stirring? I think I like Horatious the best, as a whole—but there is a noble passage, in the ‘Battle of the Lake Regillus’, which I am sure you must remember & admire, the flight of the war horse, beginning “fast, fast, with heels wild spurning”. [6] How very fine, all his similes are.
I shall echo you, henceforth, & say “dear Flushie!”. As for his sensitiveness, dear Miss Barrett—why he is your companion,—so what is to be said?– Flossy is curious to know, if he sends his friend a Christmas present of maccaroons, & tit-bits, & directs it, to ‘Flushie, 50 Wimpole St,’ whether it will reach him—& also, whether you would be jealous, when he undid his parcel. Seriously, I was touched, as well as amused, by what you told me, & so g[l]ad as I began with “dear Flushie!”
We send you some relics of our garden—dried leaves, & not, as a jest, implying that because you live in London, even dry leaves must be welcome, but because of their sweet scent, which has almost its summer freshness, though they have been gathered so long– [7] They will refresh your fingers, perhaps, when they are pen-weary–
And now, I am pleasing myself with the hope—nay, the belief, that your new volume will meet with a wide & warm welcome. It seems to me, that during the last few years, a very considerable change has taken place, in a direction, the most likely to lead to that result. The word-poetry which has been so forced upon the world, has had its due effect, & out of the disgust & weariness it has produced, a hea[l]thier appetite, has, I think, sprung up,—a craving for more soul-satisfying food. One thing I do hope exceedingly—that the book will meet with some one to review it ably. I have seen no review of your last book that at all satisfied me—that is the Quarterly, I value at naught—& the notice in Blackwood at even less—that in the Athenæum I liked better, but they were all mere apologies, for what the book had a right to extract & demand. [8] How we shall exult in your triumphs, dear Miss Barrett! Every feather in your cap, will have its double in ours, & what a plume we shall have at last! I am writing this very hurriedly, because I wish to send the parcel immediately, in time to prevent your sending on a vain errand to Pall Mall East– —Did you mean that you had sent the volume of Horne? [9] It has not arrived yet, but if you sent it on Saty, it will perhaps be brought to me tonight. I have to thank you for so much kindness, & so often, that indeed & in truth, I know not how to express myself, to make you feel that I am grateful. Will you believe it in the absence of all expression?
Very sincerely yours
T Westwood
The names—you will see in the books I send– There are but three of us[.] [10]
Publication: None traced.
Manuscript: Armstrong Browning Library.
1. Dated by reference to Westwood’s new publication, Beads from a Rosary.
2. In letter 1477, EBB had sought to dissuade Westwood from sending her a copy of his book, saying that she would buy it “ungrudgingly.”
3. See her comments in letter 1477.
4. Westwood refers to Wordsworth’s lines for Southey’s tomb (see letter 1470) and his poem on Grace Darling, which EBB thought “very inferior to his former poems” (see letter 1250).
5. i.e., EBB’s review of Wordsworth’s Poems, details of which Westwood had asked for in letters 1411 and 1473.
6. “The Battle of Lake Regillus” (Lays of Ancient Rome, XXIX, 1).
7. Verbena leaves, acknowledged in letter 1485.
8. These reviews are reprinted in vol. 4.
9. EBB sent Horne’s tragedies with letter 1477; the book was misdirected, and not acknowledged by Westwood until 9 January (letter 1501).
10. Westwood may be referring to the friends for whom he wrote Beads from a Rosary; one of these may have been George Woods, to whom the book was dedicated; another was perhaps Henry Newsom Woods (see letter 1388, note 8).
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